


External Planetary Syndrome

by madrabbitgirl



Series: External Planetary AU [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU Aliens, Alien AU, Aliens, Alternative Canon, Canon Divergent, Coat porn, Dialogue prompts, Drabble Collection, Drabbles, M/M, Other, alienlock, locked room, pinterest prompts, three drabbles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:49:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23045827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madrabbitgirl/pseuds/madrabbitgirl
Summary: “How long have you been standing there?” he asked.There was another pause.“Longer than you’d like."** Alien AU inspired by 3 Random Pinterest Prompts **
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: External Planetary AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663078
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadMags](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMags/gifts).



In retrospect, perhaps he’d wanted to get caught. It was just so rare to have time alone anymore, and he’d started to feel confined. He needed to stretch, so to speak, just for a moment. The mental pressure had been building until it felt like it would crack his skull open, spilling his brains out onto the floor.

He imagined it would look sort of like tinned pasta and the thought made him smile as he drew the curtains closed on his bedroom window.

The light always came first. It built up from his heart, spreading out over his limbs. He knew if he opened his eyes, they’d be glowing. It paled his human skin and draped over him like an aura. He dragged his tongue along his pointed teeth, taking in a deep breath-

And he paused. 

“How long have you been standing there?” he asked, tasting the scent of the other man on the air. 

There was another pause.

“Longer than you’d like,” Sherlock’s deep voice replied. John sucked in a breath and with the air went all the light, charging back towards his racing heart. He turned to face the door where Sherlock was framed, frozen in disbelief. Of course, his features would never show outright shock, but John had lived with Sherlock long enough to know his flatmate’s inner moods. 

“Alright?” John whispered, trying to sound casual. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he was suddenly aware of his human hands and not quite sure what to do with them.

“I’m not sure,” Sherlock said. He swallowed, head tilting to the side while his brain processed what he’d just seen. He wouldn’t even meet John’s gaze, and a small pucker was forming between his eyebrows. “Lestrade texted. Are you - if it’s inconvenient-”

“No, no. Let’s go,” John said, trying to smooth over the awkward tension in the room. He gave Sherlock what he hoped was a friendly smile, trying to look as normal as possible. “It’s convenient.”

***

John hated kidnappings. The level of malicious intent it took to harm children made his bones ache in the core and drained his energy levels. Human children were such delicate little creatures as it was. Sherlock stared at him and John, now that Sherlock knew, wondered what it was the detective could deduce about him. 

“Are you going to be alright?”

The calm, soft question was so out of place that it took John a moment to register that Sherlock had even spoken. He nodded once, quickly, in that militant style he would carry until he died. Sherlock didn’t reply.

***

Later, when the child was safe and they were trudging up the stairs to Baker Street, John finally broached the subject again. “Sherlock, about earlier-”

“I assume there was still a war,” Sherlock said, interrupting him. The taller man had already shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the hook. He had stalked over towards the window and was looking down at the city street, pretending to be indifferent. John knew him better. 

“How?” John asked gently, continuing to take off his own jacket. 

Sherlock sent him a withering look over his shoulder before returning his eyes to the street. Apparently he would get no answer.

“Sherlock, if you- I mean, it doesn’t change anything. I’m-” John stopped, unable to continue. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t sound like a load of bollocks? 

“I used to pay a lot of attention to the stars. I wanted to be a pirate, it seemed important,” Sherlock said, and now instead of the streets he was glancing up towards the gloomy night sky. “Deleted it, though. Didn’t seem prudent to keep the information at the time.”

“You wouldn’t have heard of this place in any of your studies, anyway,” John replied. He thought for a moment, pursing his lips. “I won’t be an experiment.”

“Then we shall have to keep this from Mycroft,” Sherlock replied, and when he turned back to John there was a gleeful expression in his eyes, excited by the prospect of trying to keep anything from his brother. “Tea?”

It wasn’t a question. John smiled and nodded before heading into the kitchen to start the water boiling. Good behavior, like not experimenting on your inhuman flatmate, should be rewarded, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired by some random Pinterest dialogue prompts that were suggested to me. The first one was "How long have you been standing there?/Longer than you'd like".
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on [My Blog](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	2. Chapter 2

It was cold, which was not great for John. As a rule, his kind didn’t thrive in cold temperatures, which was why he’d been fine in Afghanistan sun. He didn’t particularly enjoy extreme heat, either, but there was a large difference between desert and literal surface of a star. 

“Next time the suspect has an abandoned warehouse,” John said with a shiver, “and there’s a windowless cement room, and it’s winter, let’s not go into it without making sure she’s far, far away.” 

There was silence in the dark. He could tell from the vibrations in the air that Sherlock was seething, even without light. “You didn’t have to come in after me.”

“Yes, I did.” John shivered again, trying to clench his teeth so they wouldn’t chatter. He crouched down towards the floor, balling up on himself. “There’s no way out of here.”

“No.” 

“Guess it can’t get much worse,” John muttered. 

“I’m certain it can,” Sherlock drawled. He was moving. John could hear the rustle of fabric. “Give me a moment to figure out how.”

“That’s fine, I’d rather not know,” John complained. He felt the heavy coat Sherlock usually wore settle around his shoulders. He looked up, although all he saw was darkness. “What are you-”

“I’m guessing your species is temperature sensitive. You’re no good to me if you’re dead or incapacitated.” 

John groaned. For weeks, Sherlock had ignored the fact that John was anything other than human. “Oh, are we talking about that now?”

“Not good?” 

“Timing, again,” John said. He had to admit that the coat was appreciated. It was still warm from Sherlock’s body heat and it smelled of the detective. “I’ll be fine. We’ve had worse.”

“It’s going to get colder. My phone is laying in pieces on the kitchen table. Your phone is out of battery,” Sherlock said. He paused. “Have I made it worse, yet?” 

“You could try harder. So far that sounds like any other day.” John let himself smile a little. 

“Is there anything in your-” Sherlock cut off, letting a few seconds of silence pass before starting again. “Do you have any abilities that might-” 

“No, I- It’s not like that,” John said. He huffed, squeezing his eyes shut. “We’re not so different from you. It’s how we can stay here, honestly.” 

“From what I witnessed, I beg to differ. You are not like me,” Sherlock said. John let himself nod, even though he knew his friend couldn’t see it. “If you did that again, that light, perhaps I could see a way out of here.” 

John paused. Either Sherlock had a valid point or he was attempting to use the situation as an excuse to conduct those experiments he’d already vetoed, he couldn’t decide. The truth was, he didn’t want Sherlock to be scared of him, and some humans reacted poorly when confronted with anything non-human. Not that John knew from personal experience.

“Was it your mother or your father?” Sherlock asked when John didn’t answer. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Someone you knew reacted poorly when they attempted to reveal their other nature. Perhaps it was your sister. Process of elimination would have your parents both being… what you are, meanwhile your sister would be more likely to have a human spouse-”

“Clara was not the problem. It was Harry. I’m- shaped like her brother, but she knew I wasn’t him,” John sighed, shifting as his legs started to go numb. “I’m not supposed to tell you that, I hope you know.”

“Hmm.” Sherlock was moving along the walls now, probably pressing his hands into the concrete. 

“Soundproof.”

“Obviously. Although if there were cameras in here, they’re probably overhearing a very interesting conversation.”

John snorted, and then laughed a little at the absurdity of it all. “Interesting? You think I’m interesting?”

“I’ve always thought you were interesting or I wouldn’t bother.” Sherlock paused in his searching. “How did you handle Harry?”

“That’s a question for when we know there are no cameras nearby.”

“Then don’t tell it at Baker Street,” Sherlock snorted. “Mycroft replaces them almost as fast as I can find them.” 

John sighed. “I’ll try. Just, just give me a sec, yeah?” 

“You’ll try what?” Sherlock asked, but John didn’t answer. He was standing, with Sherlock’s coat still draped over his shoulders, but he was starting to drop the facade again. The light was spreading- eyes, teeth, fingertips - and pooling at his feet. 

“What is it?”

“Too complicated to go into at the moment,” John said, pushing out further. The aura around him spread into the air. “It won’t last very long. I’m cold, it doesn’t work as well.” 

Soon the room was flooded with the weak blue luminescence pulsing from John. For a brief moment, their eyes met and John smiled with his real teeth because Sherlock didn’t seem at all afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the Pinterest dialogue prompt : "It can't get much worse"/"Sure it can, give me a minute"
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on [My Blog](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	3. Chapter 3

“Fuck!” John swore, looking down the sloping hill towards where his friend had fallen. “Sherlock!” 

There was no movement. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he tried to make it down the incline himself. It was a steep hill that dropped off over a jagged, rocky beach. John’s boots slid on wet ground as he attempted to get down towards his friend. Sherlock, from a distance, looked dead. The pale skin of his face was a stark splash of white against the nearly black rocks, and his coat fanned out around him like the wings of a bird. John hit the ground hard, but he kept moving, nearly out of breath as he knelt next to the detective. “Sherlock-”

“John-” Sherlock groaned, cutting off and squinting his eyes closed. John gripped Sherlock’s head, forcing his lids open. 

“Shut up,” John snapped, releasing Sherlock’s head to probed for signs of lumps or swelling. “Leave it to you to be fine chasing criminals in the city but take one holiday-”

“John!” Sherlock said his name again, more forcefully this time. John met Sherlock’s pained gaze. The sound of Sherlock’s ragged breathing was shallow and loud. “Ribs.” 

John grimaced and pulled his hands back. “Broken? No, don’t speak.” 

He looked around, back up at the cliff they’d tumbled from. “There’s no one here for miles. On a scale from one to ten, how bad-”

“Twenty.” Sherlock winced and a tiny, uncharacteristic whine escaped his lips. “I’ve- I’ve had broken ribs once before, but I don’t remember it feeling-” 

“It’s going to hurt worse if you keep talking.” It was getting darker and John didn’t want to leave Sherlock alone on the beach to attempt to get help. “It’s fine. I- I can do something.” 

“Call for help, perhaps?” Sherlock asked sarcastically. John rolled his eyes at that. 

“It would take a long time and I doubt you want anyone else seeing you like this. Just, remember to think of a good explanation when they ask you.” John started to unbutton Sherlock’s shirt gently, pushing apart dark, soft fabric to reveal smooth skin. He started to slide his hand inside. 

“What are you-”

“Shut. Up,” John repeated, his eyes taking on that supernatural blue glow Sherlock had witnessed only twice before. His fingers probed over warm, swollen flesh to find the spot where the break had happened. At his core, John was a healer and would always be a healer. In any incarnation, on any planet, while he was most certainly a soldier he would also possess the ability to take away pain as much as cause it. Blue light pulsed from his fingertips, turning purple with the heat that Sherlock put off. Vibrations, pulses, magic- whatever humans would want to call it- started to knit the bones back together. 

Of course, nothing could just pop out of existence. Even John didn’t have that power. Everything had to be transferred somewhere and as Sherlock’s groans softened, John’s increased. A fresh wave of clammy sweat broke out on his brow as two of his own ribs started to ache. 

“John!”

“It’s fine,” John ground out, letting Sherlock go. He crossed an arm over his chest as if to hold himself together. “Just, let’s, er, get moving. We’ve a long walk back.”

***

It was a long journey back to their small cottage. As John collapsed on the ragged old sofa, Sherlock hovered over him, looking for all the world like he expected John to break into pieces. It made John huff out a small laugh.

“Our bones are more sturdy than yours,” he said, wincing again as he spoke. “I’ll be fine, really.” 

“Obviously,” Sherlock said, but his tone was not quite as self-assured as usual. “It was a broken rib. I’m assuming if I wouldn’t have died from it, neither would you.” 

“Then stop hovering like a vulture and go get us something to drink,” John replied, making a shooing motion with one arm. He regretted it and clenched his eyes shut. He could hear Sherlock moving into the tiny kitchen to fill a glass with something. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Sherlock said, returning with a glass of water for John. 

“You couldn’t move. It was getting dark. It seemed like the best option at the time,” John said, taking the glass gingerly. He sipped. He didn't want to add that he hated to see Sherlock hurt. Sherlock sat down on the coffee table in front of the sofa and observed John for a long moment.

“Yours aren’t broken, but mine were. You’ve done this before, obviously a medical professional of some sort in your previous home.” The detective steepled his hands, eyes roaming. “Is that how the bullet-”

“No, no. I was actually shot. I’d um, rather not talk about it at the moment,” John said. “It’s not a pleasant memory.” 

“Because you couldn’t save John Watson,” Sherlock deduced. John gave a sad smile, shaking his head. 

“Must we?” he asked. “I did just heal your ribs. You could cut me a break.” The pointed look that Sherlock sent John was a relief as it said two things, one, he was never going to ‘cut John a break’ and two it meant things were getting back to normal. “I was already John before we met anyway, so it’s not as though it changes anything.” 

“I suppose. I am curious, however, how some of these things work. Or,” Sherlock paused, and his eyes flickered away. John winced, but he moved to set his glass to the side. His grunt of pain had Sherlock looking back at him. 

“I’m fine,” John promised. “What are you worried about?”

“Nothing-” 

“Bollocks,” John said, leaning back onto the couch. He let out a tense huff and tried to adjust to a more comfortable position. “Tell me, what’s wrong? Are you-” he paused, not quite wanting the answer. “Are you scared of me?”

This earned John a snort, albeit a shaky one. Sherlock leaned closer, his nerves causing his eyes to almost glare, until he was quite close to John’s face. “As if anything you could ever do would repulse me.” 

“Then, what’s going through that brilliant mind?” John asked, although he was finding it hard to concentrate with Sherlock right the fuck there. 

“I’m worried you might one day have to leave. After all, you aren’t from around here,” Sherlock said delicately. John smiled, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“That’s not going to happen,” he promised. Sherlock smiled in response, eyes crinkling at the sides. He closed the small gap between them, pressing their lips together slowly before leaning back to grin at John once more. 

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the Pinterest Prompt (Fake Redhead, I think) - "On a scale of one to ten, how bad" "Twenty"
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on [My Blog](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


End file.
